


Oh, Brother, Where Art... Something

by Greeneyes_fan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 7.06, Angst, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greeneyes_fan/pseuds/Greeneyes_fan
Summary: Prompt: The night Sam leaves, Dean gets, surprise!, incredibly drunk, and doesn't sober up for the next few days. Cue a barrage of morose drunk texts and drunk dials at all hours of the day, until finally Sam's heart can't take it and he comes back and gives sad!wasted!Dean a good cuddle.





	Oh, Brother, Where Art... Something

Beer really doesn't cut it anymore.

For one thing, it takes far too many bottles even to take the edge off. For another, he has to get up and piss far too often, drinking beer. For the last three hours, it's been straight whiskey, and if he got out of the chair, there's no way he'd get back into it.

Which is unfortunate, given that both bottles are now empty. Dean's pretty sure there's another one somewhere, possibly in that cardboard box by the door, but all the alcohol within reach is definitely gone.

Well. Not gone. That would imply it got spilled or something. It's all still right here in his belly.

Not gone at all. Unlike… Fuck. Hasn't he passed out yet?

Hoping to find a flask, Dean digs in his pocket. And comes out with a cellphone.

*Samy get me mnre beer*

No. That was all wrong. Sam wasn't at the library, or picking up dinner. Sam was off. Alone, except for whatever axe murderer had picked him up, and Lucifer riding shotgun. Except if Sam was hitchhiking, he was riding shotgun. But Lucifer was inside Sam's head anyway, so, still shotgun.

*Dont listen to th devl*

But Sam never liked being told he was crazy.

*Look out fr levitation eating u*

Dean was pretty sure levitation was not the word he'd intended to use. Damned autocomplete. But, hey, if there was any levitation around, it was probably worth looking out for.

*I prmise not to kill your girlfrds any more*

Sure. Remind him about the other ones. Great move, Dean.

*Forget last msg*

There.

*Im a asshol*

*Need you to stay hman*

*Keep me humnan*

No, that wasn't going to cut it. Especially not lazily written like that.

*Come back please*

Dean squinted at the screen and spelled each word out carefully. Sam was sort of a grammar nut sometimes. But, Dean realized, he hadn't used punctuation.

*Come back, please.*

There. Perfect.

Dean's head dropped forward onto the table as the grey light of morning crept through the blinds.

 

There was a scratchy motel pillow under Dean's ear, and the faint whisk it made as he turned his head nearly split his skull. What had he been doing, and with who?

Oh. Right. Nobody.

Come to think of it, how had he gotten to bed? The last thing he remembered was finishing off the bottle at the table.

And was was that sound? Toilet flushing? Holy fuck, there was a leviathan in his room, flushing his toilet. Probably flushing someone's intestines.

The door opened. Dean looked around in vain for Borax, machetes or other anti-leviathan weapons.

And out popped his brother.

Dean sat up and stared in confusion.

"Hi, Dean." Just like he had over a year earlier. But that brother, RoboSam, had offered a confident smile that never reached his eyes. This one ducked his head uncertainly, gaze wavering between Dean and the motel door.

"I got your messages."

"What messages?" Dean's phone is on the nightstand, battery dead.

"Yeah, thought you might not remember. Look, I can't forget what you did, but it's just not in me to stay gone right now."

And then Dean is wrapped up in those long, all-encompassing arms, and, for one instant, he's safe.


End file.
